


The Dress

by ChloeWinchester



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dark Castle, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:24:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3962620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeWinchester/pseuds/ChloeWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle's gown becomes more harmful than originally anticipated, and Rumplestiltskin may be feeling something close to sympathy for his maid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dress

He wasn’t _lurking._ Per se.

He was simply...checking on how well his new maid was doing on the cleaning. Rumplestiltskin had been doing that a lot lately, ever since the forest, it seemed. She’d...hugged him. And that was strange. She didn’t mind touching him, she’d even taken his rough, scaly, calloused and clawed hand in her soft, dainty palms and spoke to him so sweetly. That was stranger.

She baffled him.

He looked at her from across the room, the stark splash of yellow in a room of faded colors, cloaked in dust and age and darkness. The fire cast a glow on her satin dress that nearly illuminated the rest of the room with it.

The little maid had beaten the rugs out earlier, and they were still hanging off the balcony outside, and after she’d swept a bucket of soap and water waited for her to scrub the floor.

The quiet hisses the bristles of the broom made on the ground, the rhythmic little clicks of her heels as she moved, the tune she hummed all made this soothing, methodic music he lost himself in, and only broke from his daze when the broom fell and Belle’s hands slapped against the stone as she fell.

Her heel caught the hem of her gown, torn, and sent her on her hands. The Dark One winced, taking a half-step forward and opening his mouth, but he wasn’t sure what to say, what to do. If he came forward now he’d have to tell her he’d been watching her, and he didn’t want that. Instead he froze, still half concealed in the shadow of the doorway, drawing his hands back to his chest to keep them from their hopeful reaching out at her.

Belle took several deep breaths, her hands skinned, little pinpricks of blood on the heels of her palms. She sniffed, shaking it off and struggled to get back up in all the petticoats.

The dress was ruined from the last six inches down. It was dirty, torn and stained, used as no ballgown ever should be used, and Rumple was well aware of that. He often wondered why she had worn something so elaborate in his presence.

She sniffed and continued sweeping, catching the last pile of grime and dirt in the tin tray and tossing it over the balcony.

Rumple watched her fight to get back onto her knees in such a cumbersome thing, scrubbing at the stones diligently. She paused now and then to let her injured hands rest, her frustration growing the more sore and raw her knees became.

Several times when she moved he heard something in the dress tear, and each time the light in Belle’s face dimmed, the dreamy quality to her eyes clouded and the smile that nearly always seemed to be part of her features was vanishing.

It scared him.

She slipped constantly, catching on the dress, her knee in the fabric making her smack her elbow against the stone and he winced. He still didn’t know what to do. If he went to her and told her to stop, she didn’t have to anymore, he’d look weak.

But if he just, stood there and watch her batter herself and-

Belle threw the scrub brush into the bucket with a dull thunk, bowing her head and crying. She sobbed softly, her shoulders trembling and quiet, broken little sobs left her throat.

He swallowed and backed out of the room, shaking his head and cursing himself. He needed to do something, anything. A monster he might be but if Belle was going to be here for the rest of her life, then she might as well not spend it being too miserable.

~*~

Belle’s hands were scraped and raw, her knees bruised horribly and her dress was ruined. She had nothing else to wear, and nothing to even try and fix the one she had. Even if she did, she wouldn’t likely be able to do much of anything to fix it.

It wasn’t as if she could ask Rumplestiltskin for something else to wear. How strange that would be? Asking The Dark One for a dress. The thought alone made her flush in mortification.

Belle would endure as long as needed and keep her mouth shut about it.

However, at this particular moment she was so frustrated and so utterly furious with herself and the dress and the ache in her joints she broke down in tears, ignoring the constant feeling of being watched. She always felt like that here, always wondered if Rumple was listening to her or watching her in some magical way or something.

She cried, not loud enough to draw attention to herself for fear of him bringing another pillow and smothering her this time instead of veiled comfort or yelling at her for not cleaning the floors like she was supposed to. She wasn’t afraid of The Dark One, or what he might threaten to do to her, but she hated shouting. She hated loud noises and raised voices, it made her insides churn and her body tense.

A rough but warm and familiar hand very suddenly touched her shoulder and she jumped, looking up at the keeper of this castle with a pink nose, tears on her face, dirt and water all over the rest of her. “I-I’m sorry, Rumple, I’ll get back to work-”

“Belle, no,” he said quietly. “I um, you can stop for today.”

Belle frowned, cocking her head. He… What? He wasn’t looking at her, his eyes firmly planted anywhere else but her face. She swallowed. “I...You’re sure? The sun is still out and you told me to-”

“Well I changed my mind, didn’t I?!” He said in that sing-songy tone of his. “Now get out of here before I change my mind again!” He was trying to be nefarious, but that little hint of concern in his voice made her smile, just a little. “I moved the book you were reading upstairs. I’m rather tired of your clutter, dearie.” He was just trying to get her to smile now, and it worked.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, trying to stand without hurting herself more. She got halfway up and nearly topped over and he caught her in his arms.

She looked at him, their faces close, and he hastily straightened her up and let her go, skin tinged a little pink under the gold. He cleared his throat and she smoothed the front of the dangerous garment down. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. He shook his head.

“Not your fault, um, just...go read or something, you’re done for today,” he said with a dismissive wave.

Belle gave a little bow and trudged upstairs to her room. The library was incredibly lit with the soft evening light outside, her books on the table right where he said they’d be and-

Belle paused, staring at her bed.

A dress.

Soft blue with a white chemise underneath, a pair of silver slippers much more suited for the work she’d be doing on the floor beside where it was draped.

Without hesitation Belle stripped out of the uncomfortable yellow gown and threw it across the room where she didn’t have to look at it.

She ran slow hands along the soft fabric, nearly naked as she looked it over. She finally put it on and sighed at the sheer relief of being covered properly in soft linen.

It fit her perfectly.

She kicked out of the shoes she’d been wearing, banishing them with the dress.

Curiosity had her peering into the armoire against the far wall, and she was astonished, looking at the clothes that had appeared inside. The cloak she’d been given, as well as several gowns to sleep in and other dresses similar to this one she could also wear.

She smiled, another flutter of warmth, much like the one she felt in the forest last week, surging through her. The tiniest ember started to glow and smoke in the confines of her heart.

~*~

Rumple sat at his spinning wheel, the thread sliding gracefully through his fingers with practiced ease, a mindless task he could lose himself in without having to think about anything. The nagging blackness of his heart, the horrid want to see his child and this bubbling goo he felt growing hotter and hotter in his chest whenever Belle’s face, name, voice or smile was near.

He couldn’t do that, however, when she was touching him like she was now.

Both of her hands settled on his shoulders and he looked up at her, utterly bewildered.

“Can I help you?” He tried to say with a condescending and demeaning tone, but it was stuttered and breathy instead. She was wearing the dress he’d happen to procure- stumbled upon for her and she...she looked beautiful. Her eyes were bluer, her lips pinker and he lost his breath a moment staring at her.

Belle beamed down at him. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to tell you thank you.”

“For what?” He asked, as if he didn’t know. He didn’t sound as remotely annoyed as he was trying to be.

“This,” she said, plucking her skirt. “Everything else.”

“Well. I merely stumbled across them and threw them in your bedroom for safekeeping, that’s all,” he grunted. She squeezed his shoulders and the sandpaper imp tried not to fight for more of that comfort rather than appreciate his icy solitude.

“So I’m not supposed to wear them?” She challenged. He waved an overzealous hand.

“Do what you like with them. I’m obviously not going to use them,” he scoffed, pursing his lips. Belle giggled and his heart bubbled more.

“You’re right. Not sure blue’s your color.” She bent at the waist and pressed a swift kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Rumple. I’ll go start your dinner now.”

Rumple stared after her, his cheek burning where her lips had touched him. He touched the spot himself, trying to see if he could feel her presence, that sweet innocence and gentleness that surrounded her.

He couldn’t, but that didn’t make it less special.

“That floor had better be spotless first thing tomorrow morning, dearie!” He called, trying to regain the upperhand.

Belle smiled, not looking at him as she left. “It will be.”

He watched her go, sighing wistfully and smiling after her.

She kissed him. Well, his cheek, and she likely found it the same texture as a stone wet with summer rain and wouldn’t repeat the action, but she had.

He scoffed and went back to the wheel. Belle was just a maid. Just a girl. What had she gotten all worked up for?

It was just a dress.

 


End file.
